


Body and Soul

by Dracoduceus, FaiaHae



Series: Love at First Bite [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Duty, Honor, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 23:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16482071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaHae/pseuds/FaiaHae
Summary: As he had since he turned sixteen, he very carefully examined his body from head to toe. Genji teased him that he had all the vanity of a strutting peacock, but even his little brother who knew him better than anyone else didn’t understand.Soul marks…they were sacred, as sacred as the honored spirits bound to him with blood and ink. At sixteen he had chosen to do his first filial duty and bind himself to the dragon spirits that had in turn chosen him as their host. His father told him that it was one of the most important decisions of his life and everyone knew that you got your soul mark for decisions like those.The choice of vampirism on its own was more than simple enough and Hanzo knew that he would make the choice a thousand times over. It was merely a matter of the repercussions of his decision that gave him pause.It all boiled down to his soulmate.





	Body and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a larger piece I'm working on with [FaiaHae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaHae/pseuds/FaiaHae). We thought it would be fun to post a bit of it for Halloween this year. 
> 
> Vampire soulmate? 
> 
> Who knew.

As he had since he turned sixteen, he very carefully examined his body from head to toe. Genji teased him that he had all the vanity of a strutting peacock, but even his little brother who knew him better than anyone else didn’t understand. 

Soul marks…they were sacred, as sacred as the honored spirits bound to him with blood and ink. At sixteen he had chosen to do his first filial duty and bind himself to the dragon spirits that had in turn chosen him as their host. His father told him that it was one of the most important decisions of his life and everyone knew that you got your soul mark for decisions like those. 

Hanzo was doubly disappointed when he woke up at the end of the ritual and found that he didn’t have a soul mark. He had the dragons and his own tattoos as a part of the yakuza, but he didn’t have any other marks.

Despite his upbringing and the fact that his hands were soaked in blood despite his young age, he had always tried to be a good person. He visited the temple and made his prayers and paid alms and did his community duties with joy – honest joy, not the false kind that many of his family expressed upon doing such chores. He tried to balance the scales of his life against the lives he’d taken and still he was not worthy of such a sacred marking. 

Clenching his fists, Hanzo tried not to be disappointed but he couldn’t help it. Shouldn’t one doing his filial duty – with gusto in many ways, shouldering burdens that Hanzo knew that Genji couldn’t, shouldn’t, and wouldn’t take – deem him worthy enough of such an honor?

He eyed the clock: 11:57. 

According to history and ritual, the day was to be spent alone in quiet meditation – as if he had not pondered this question since he had received the honor of his dragons. Meals were brought to him, lessons and meetings cancelled. This was the singular most important decision of his life, his family had always told him and Genji. This, not the honored spirits, changed their destinies the most. 

And this decision, as terrified as it made Hanzo feel, excited him. This decision would change the path of his fate. There was no going back from this decision once the ritual was complete – which is why a period of meditation was required before making it. 

Decisions like this one, the big life-changing ones that changed the path of your destiny, are almost guaranteed to result in a soul mark. 

Hanzo jumped when a servant knocked tentatively on his door. He waited until he heard them place their burdens down and shuffle away to open the door. It took him three trips to carry the heavy trays inside. One tray had a simple meal of grilled fish, rice,  _ tsukemono _ , and a bowl of miso; the other two trays held large bowls of rice, beef and horse tartare, offal battered and fried to disguise their identities, and a blood stew. 

Hanzo swallowed. It was a reminder of the two choices he had before him. He sighed and tapped his hands quietly in front of him. “ _ Itadakimasu _ ,” he murmured though there was no one in the room with him, and bent to eat. 

He ate the  _ tsukemono _ since the chefs in Shimada Castle made the very best in all of Japan in his opinion, and wondered if he would still be able to taste it the next day when he woke up from the ritual. He thought he would, since many of his family still ate _ tsukemono _ , but still he worried. An odd thing to worry about, he knew; there were a lot more things to consider. 

His mind inevitably drifted back to his soulmate. At the age of 17, on the night before his 18th birthday, he was still unmarked without even the barest hint of anything to show for it. In many ways he was worried – terrified – and not for the reasons that most would be when considering such a life-altering decision. 

On one hand, this decision would change his life forever and there was no going back from it. His entire life would change – life and lifespan, his ability to heal, and the strength of his body. He wouldn’t be immortal, but he would be much harder to kill, especially as he grew older. His lifestyle would change too, which was why he was given such blood-rich meals: it was a symbolic representation of his choice. 

Should he choose to eat the meal of rice and fish and miso, it was a sign that at that moment in time he was choosing to remain human; should he choose to eat the meal of blood and meat and offal, he was committing to a life – a  _ long _ life – of vampirism. 

Many of his aunts and uncles and cousins had made the decision, as did his parents. The heir was expected to which in many ways made this decision easy on Hanzo – he did his filial duty after all, and the Clan would not be run by a mere human, not after the disaster that his three-times-great-grandfather had caused when they ignored this simple rule. 

It wasn’t a strange concept to Hanzo as he distantly understood it to be in other families. He grew up understanding vampiric strength and diet, and even his own (and Genji’s though he made it very clear that he hated it) held a lot of iron- and blood-rich foods. 

(In many ways he was almost excited for the ritual – a vampire’s sense of taste was deadened to solid foods, after all.) 

The choice of vampirism on its own was more than simple enough and Hanzo knew that he would make the choice a thousand times over. It was merely a matter of the repercussions of his decision that gave him pause. 

It all boiled down to his soulmate. 

A human could have a soulmate, could have platonic mates, or some other kind of bond. It wasn’t terribly uncommon to have more than one kind of bond, but Hanzo had nothing. Nothing except the manufactured bond on his arm, the ouroboros of the Shimada Clan. 

(Genji had gotten his on his ass, because of course he did. The Elders and their father had been furious, but privately Hanzo found it more than a little amusing. They giggled over it at night when Hanzo brought him medicines and talked Genji through care for the mark. Though now the rest of the Clan ignored it, they kept it as a private joke between them.)

However, soulmates in vampires were…“uncommon” didn’t even begin to cover it. He’d heard a few legends and family stories of a vampiric Clan member finding their soulmate in another vampire of the Clan – it was a very romanticized story and prone to repetition. 

But as far as Hanzo had heard, that had been the only case of such a thing. That a vampiric member of the Clan had found their true soulmate after they had been turned. 

There were also cases where a human with a soul mark was changed – more often than not, the soul mark tended to fade as if the loss of their humanity had done something to their soul and the ties it had to another. That was a good thing, the Elders had rushed to reassure Hanzo when they discussed it with him. It meant fewer distractions. It meant that the choice he made had been right. 

In his heart, deep down inside where no one (except maybe his soulmate) could hear, he knew that they were lying to him. It was just a tactic to bind him closer to the Clan – why even the heirs were expected to bear their manufactured mark – but Hanzo could understand their reasoning. After all the effort they had invested in him as the next  _ oyabun _ , they wouldn’t want to find after so much effort that he had been a waste of time.

Hanzo’s chopsticks scraped the bottom of the bowl and he looked down in surprise to find it empty. 

He put the bowl back down as he heard the sound of someone scratching on the garden window. “Yo!” Genji whispered as he slipped into the room. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” Hanzo hissed though it was without heat. Lately their relationship had been strained but Genji would always be his brother. 

And even outside of the bonds of filial duty, Hanzo loved him. 

“As if that’s stopped me before,” Genji teased, rolling his eyes. He fixed his clothes, a little rumpled from his stunt, and offered Hanzo a beaming grin. Lately he had taken to wearing collared shirts around Hanzo; a polite gesture that neither of them ever discussed since they both knew that Genji’s soul marks were showing. 

A part of Hanzo wondered what shape they took and where exactly they were. He wanted to celebrate with Genji but the greater part of him burned with jealousy and too many poisonous words had been shared between them. 

Hanzo tried to be annoyed or at least appeared to, but he was sure he probably just looked as ridiculous as the ancient tapestries that he and his brother used to make fun of as children. 

“So you’ve made your choice,” Genji commented neutrally as he eyed the tray. He sat cross-legged across from Hanzo and propped his elbows on his knees. 

Suspicious, Hanzo nodded once and opened his mouth to speak before realizing that he didn’t what to say. 

With a shaky smile, Genji waved it off. “Oh, Hanzo,” he teased with a wavering voice. “Finally there’ll be a reason for your cold heart.” 

The brothers were quiet for a while and Hanzo nervously put his plates back on the tray. “I’m sorry,” Hanzo murmured though he didn’t know why.

“It’s your choice,” Genji murmured, surprisingly gentle despite his obvious feelings on the matter. “I’m afraid for you but if this is what you want…I mean, it’s not like I can stop you.” 

Hanzo bit his lip. “I’m afraid too,” he admitted very softly. “But the ritual has been a part of the Clan for generations. It’ll be safe.”

“I’m not afraid of the ritual,” Genji replied. “I’m afraid for  _ you _ .” 

The brother sat in meditative silence for a while. At 16:55 when the next knock came, Genji hid in the closet and Hanzo accepted the new trays of food. 

“I didn’t think this through,” Genji said when the servants were gone. They both knew that he couldn’t eat the other meal or those watching would know and by now he was clearly hungry. “I should’ve brought snacks.” 

Hanzo gestured to one of his cabinets and shushed Genji when he made a noise of glee to find packets of ramen and an electric kettle. They ate together in silence and Genji didn’t watch him eat carpaccio and tartare in preparation for the ritual. Likewise they didn’t talk about how Hanzo had to eat and eat and eat in preparation for the ritual so that he didn’t go on a hungry rampage. 

Great-uncle Hiroko hadn’t eaten enough; their father had been the one to end his short life when he had tried to go for the young heirs. 

“Do you think you’ll meet your soulmate?” Hanzo found himself whispering to Genji sometime around 22:30. 

His brother had stretched out over his bed, toying with his hair. Unlike Hanzo, he didn’t like having long hair and had been talking about cutting it short and maybe even dying it just to watch Elder Akihiro turn purple with rage. 

“I hope so,” Genji replied with a seriousness that surprised Hanzo. “My marks…” he stopped himself. “Oh…sorry, anija.” 

Hanzo clenched his fists on his thighs. Rolling out of seiza, he stretched his legs out and wiggled his toes to make sure he still had feeling in them. “Will you…tell me?”

For a long moment he was terrified that Genji wouldn’t tell him. He was worried that he wouldn’t ever get a soul mark after giving up his human life. If he didn’t have even the tiniest hint of one at 17…

“I found a penpal in America,” Genji said quietly. “Remember in primary school when we sent letters to our sister school?” Hanzo nodded. “I…got in contact with my old penpal and we’d been trading letters. As soon as I decided to do that…the first one appeared.” 

Hanzo peered up at Genji who lolled his head on the bed to return his look. “First one?”

“It was a little gear,” his brother clarified, toying with the very tip of his hair. “I thought it was a mole at first but then the next day I could see it clearer. More appeared – they look like a necklace now…almost.”

“May I…see it?” Hanzo whispered. 

Genji peeled off his shirt and pointed out each mark. Without his help, Hanzo probably wouldn’t have been able to notice them, their outlines were so light. But the gear was easy to find, boldly outlined in black where it rested innocuously on his collarbone. 

“I’m doing my duty,” Hanzo murmured, staring longingly at the marks. “I’ve been…I hope I’ve been a good son and a good student. I’ve done my duty and I’ve excelled at my lessons. I’ve earned the honor of not one but two spirit dragons upon my first completion of the ritual, and have the tattoos to prove my service to my family and my  _ oyabun _ . I work hard to earn my place in the Shimada Clan and yet…some greater power out there still deems me unworthy.” 

He was surprised when Genji rolled over and to his knees in front of Hanzo. “Perhaps you’re just not ready yet,” his brother suggested, his long black hair a mess as it fell over his shoulder. “Perhaps your choice is yet ahead of you.” 

Hanzo looked away. “Vampires don’t get soulmates,” he reminded Genji quietly. 

“What about great-great grandmother Genji?” It had been a joke in their youth that Genji was named after a woman and the reminder always brought a smile to Hanzo’s lips but not now. 

“Great-great-great,” Hanzo corrected softly. “And she took a human lover that in a fit of hunger, she devoured.” 

Genji scowled. “Or Ancestor Ame?”

“Ancestor Ame didn’t exist,” Hanzo muttered bitterly. 

Genji gripped his hands gently and squeezed. “Ancestor Ame didn’t have a soulmate for many decades,” he said with such soft earnestness that Hanzo felt the tiniest bubble of hope rise into his throat. “And even after many years after completing the rite, he still remained alone and without marks. You know the rest.” 

“Ancestor Ame won a great battle,” Hanzo said a little sullenly. “And came across a soldier whose life he spared because he begged for it. When he put his sword down he found a mark on his hand in the shape of a cherry blossom like a tattoo that didn’t wash off. But Ancestor Ame didn’t exist – he’s just a story.” 

“If Ancestor Ame didn’t exist, then where did Ancestor Michiko come from?” Genji asked pointedly. “Or Ancestor Akira? And Ancestor Akira…”

Hanzo huffed. Ancestor Akira was the one that was said to have started the Shimada Clan and his presence was at least something that was proven. Before Ancestor Akira was his mother Michiko, a prostitute-turned-assassin and her father, Ancestor Ame, who taught her the assassin trade. 

Suddenly, Genji hugged Hanzo tightly. “ _ Anija _ ,” he said, more seriously than Hanzo had ever heard him. “Whatever your path, I love you.”

It came time for the ritual and Genji crept out. He would watch with their parents and would be the first, despite Hanzo's ravenous appetite, to throw himself at the new vampire and hug him.

His heart sank later that morning when he saw no new markings on his skin - none save the ones that marked him as a vampire of the Shimada Clan. But a monster without a heart is surely undeserving of a soulmate.

And Hanzo had  _ chosen  _ this.

In time it became easier for Hanzo to get used to his new life. Genji did indeed cut his hair and dye it and when it was his turn, refused the rite.

But Genji had always been the brave one.

Hanzo completed his duties as he always did and grew in strength. Genji continued to refuse the rite. They drifted further apart.

Years later, after their father had died, Genji met his penpal in Hanamura and the Elders uncovered a plot to usurp the Shimadas and a mole.

They kept him in meetings and planning sessions and stakeouts for  _ days _ . When they accused Genji of being the traitor, he was hungry and Genji, his beloved baby brother, was only human.

He came to himself much later, soaked in his brother's blood. It was empty comfort to see that he hadn't devoured his brother's flesh.

_ He's a traitor _ , the Elders had said as they manipulated their puppet, moved him into place like a pawn on a chessboard.  _ He must be dealt with _ .

_ Monster is as monster does _ , he mused.  _ And killing one as dear as Genji means that I truly have no soul left _ .

His blades and fangs and claws would find use but once more that night and the halls of the Castle would ring with cries and flow with blood.

Before he left he removed his claws, cut his hair, and left his blades on the altar for his brother. 

And then he vanished into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> We can be reached for praise or complaint on Tumblr at [Faiahae](http://faiahae.tumblr.com/) and [Classywastelandbread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/).


End file.
